


Cockatoo

by satincolt



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Time, Galo is very dumb and we love him, Getting Together, Himbo Galo Thymos, Hookups in Closets, Humor, M/M, Set after the events of the movie, Trans Lio Fotia, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satincolt/pseuds/satincolt
Summary: It all boils down to Galo deeply and profoundly misunderstanding the meaning of the word "cockatoo."
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 33
Kudos: 261





	Cockatoo

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, this is my first Promare work & I'm very excited to share. I've been reading through the galolio tag and my two main beefs are: not enough trans Lio, and Galo just isn't stupid enough in many fics; so here's my attempt at righting this wrong. Galo is _phenomenally_ stupid and I love him.

“His hair reminds me of something.”

Lio looks over his shoulder at Gueira, one eyebrow raised in question. Gueira doesn’t take the hint. Lio twists in his chair and sighs at him. “Whose hair reminds you of what?”

“Sorry boss, just thinking out loud,” Gueira says, looking slightly embarrassed. His unusual defensiveness piques Lio’s curiosity.

“Why won’t you tell me? Is it something bad?”

“Not bad,” Gueira hedges.

“That Burning Rescue firefighter,” Meis cuts in, ever eager to please where Gueira fails.

“Galo?” Lio raises an eyebrow again, and Meis nods.

“He looks like a rooster.”

Lio hums, tilting his head and considering the comparison. “Something like that.” Then he refocuses on Gueira. “Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

Gueira gives a one-shouldered shrug, and Lio’s eyes flick over to Meis. “‘Cause he’s your boyfriend,” Meis mumbles.

“News to me,” Lio says dryly, and that’s where the conversation ends, though over the next couple of days the thought turns over and over in Lio’s mind, never leaving him alone for long. The next time he sees Galo, having been invited out to lunch with the former Burning Rescue precinct group, the idea crystallizes.

“Eww, there’s a hair in my ramen!” Aina says, pulling out a long, dark hair. “Galo, it’s yours!”

“It’s not!” Galo retorts indignantly, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

“How could it be his; it’s so gelled into place,” Varys comments, grinning over his bowl, lifted to slurp the remainder of the broth out of the bottom.

“It’s not gelled,” Galo protests. “It’s just naturally like this.”

“Oh, so it’s not a daily decision to look like a blue rooster?” Ignis asks lightly from the other end of the table.

“No!” Galo almost whines. “It just _does_ this.”

“I think he looks more like a cockatoo than a rooster,” Lio says suddenly after having been quiet the whole lunch, the words coming out of his mouth of their own accord. All the firefighters look at him, surprised that he’s actually getting in on their jokes, and find Lio looking just as surprised that he’d actually said anything. Ignis is the first one to laugh, the rest quickly following suit. Lio glances sideways at Galo, chuckling when he sees a deep blush consuming his entire face. Galo says nothing to his defense and nearly sticks his face into his ramen, inhaling the noodle soup with a single-minded fury as the conversation moves on around him. Within moments, Galo rebounds magnificently and bounces into the conversation again, talking so much and so animatedly that Lio no longer feels pressure to contribute and can return to the soft-boiled egg in his bowl that he’s been saving for last.

Neatly, Lio cuts the egg in half with his chopsticks and pops one half into his mouth, savoring the soft yolk and soy and pork broth. A flash of movement on his right and Lio looks over to see Galo with an empty bowl before him and the other half of Lio’s egg in his chopsticks, holding it theatrically in front of his open mouth. “Hey!” Lio says indignantly. “That’s my egg.”

He lunges for the egg with his chopsticks, but they skewer thin air as Galo inhales the egg and a primal sense of anger and loss crashes over Lio like it had in the cockpit of the Galo de Lion, and he more than half expects to feel the familiar heat of jewel-like fire cascading from his palms. Instead what he feels is Galo’s warm skin on his fingers, squeezing the man’s cheeks hard to try to force him to spit out the egg. The thought that Lio doesn’t _want_ to eat the egg after Galo has chewed it doesn’t even cross his mind. He is intent on victory, and victory is preventing that egg from going down Galo’s throat.

 _“My egg,”_ Lio growls, jamming a thumb into the corner of Galo’s mouth as Galo chokes on egg and laughter, both oblivious to the looks they’re getting from the others at the table and in the restaurant.

“Mine,” Galo retorts simply around a mouthful of chewed-up egg. Lio growls again, redoubles his efforts, and hauls Galo’s face towards him without a clear plan of action. It’s only Ignis’s tactful clearing of the throat that snaps Galo out of it, which in turn snaps Lio out of it. Turning back to face the rest of the table, who are silently watching and holding their breath, Galo gives a little wave and folds his hands on the table.

“Apologies,” Lio mutters, looking down into his tepid ramen. Conversation resumes and the veneer of normalcy slides back into place. Out of the corner of his eye, Lio sees Galo wink at him and swallow. _“This isn’t over, you arrogant cockatoo,”_ Lio hisses and Galo’s face colors magnificently. Lio takes that as his small victory.

* * *

A few days after the ramen lunch, Galo has Lio over to the station for a “precinct party,” which Lio mistakenly assumes is some sort of small house party and brings a bottle of wine. Upon arrival to FDPP Precinct 3 at 7pm, Lio knocks on the small door set into the giant machinery bay’s door, and it opens to reveal Lucia. She’s not in her usual punk-rocker-scientist getup, but in a Tyvek suit, and her goggles are down over her eyes instead of up on her forehead.

“What’s the wine for?” she asks bluntly, still blocking the doorway.

“I, uh, didn’t know what a precinct party meant,” Lio says, looking over Lucia’s shoulder into the machinery bay where the rest of the crew are also wearing Tyvek suits and holding cleaning equipment, gathered in front of one of the great wheels of the fire engine. Lucia barks a harsh laugh and finally steps aside, allowing Lio into the building.

“I’ll take that,” she says of the wine, expertly lifting it out of Lio’s hands and carrying it off like a baby.

“Don’t drink that now, save it until the cleaning is done!” Ignis shouts after her as she trots off into a side room off the machinery bay. “And get Lio one of your spare suits!”

The sound of his name in someone’s mouth who isn’t Galo, sends a spark of frisson down Lio’s spine. He’s not _Boss_ or _Mad Burnish_ or _that Burnish,_ he’s Lio; a person with a name just like anyone else. Lucia returns with an extra-small Tyvek suit and tosses it at Lio along with a face shield. “You’ll want to take your jacket off,” she advises as she passes him, running over to the group where it seems like they’re dividing up chores. Lio turns and finds a coat hook near the door and leaves his jacket there, going bare-chested under the Tyvek suit. He snaps the face shield on and walks up to the powwow, sliding in at Galo’s left elbow. Galo shoots Lio a quick and blindingly bright smile.

Ignis divvies out duties, which include hosing and scrubbing the wheels of the Mobile Rescue, scouring residue out of the many cannons and launchers, fixing chips in the paint, and cleaning all the electricals with tiny alcohol swabs. The firefighters accept their chores with varying degrees of grace—Remi just nods and takes the outstretched box of cotton buds and bottle of isopropyl alcohol; Varys grumbles under his breath, but goes without protest to grab the high-pressure hose; Lucia howls with anguish at the mind-numbing task of painting in the many tiny chips in the engine’s paint; and Galo has the audacity to try to argue with Ignis to get out of scrubbing the launchers.

“Use him,” Ignis says simply, waving his clipboard at Lio. “He can fit down into the cannons.”

“Me?” Lio balks. The idea of shimmying down into the cannons that fire the freezing payloads that had so frequently been shot at him is a bad one, to put it mildly. “Can’t I have another responsibility? I can help Lucia with the paint—”

Ignis shakes his head. “You don’t know your way around the engine. You need to be paired with someone who does.”

“What about Aina? What about you?” Galo protests.

“Lio is your guest and we have our own vehicles to work on. Don’t forget that after you finish with the Mobile Rescue, you’re cleaning your Matoi Tech,” Ignis reminds him levelly, and Galo visibly sags. He seems to sense that further resistance is futile, and turns to mope aggressively in Lio’s direction. Lio shrugs at him.

“Shouldn’t we get up there, so it’s done sooner?” he prompts.

“Remi has such an easy job,” Galo mutters, but he clambers agilely up the side of the giant engine, Lio close behind him despite struggling to reach some of the handholds Galo can so easily stretch his large frame out to grab. When Galo reaches the high platform with a large battery of cannons, he turns around and looks down at Lio, who’s several feet down and just a few inches shy of reaching the next handhold. Wordlessly, Galo squats down and reaches out for Lio, grabbing his wrist firmly and pulling him up onto the platform as if he weighs nothing.

“Thanks,” Lio mutters distractedly, looking up at the cannons.

“They’re pretty cool, aren’t they?” Galo chuckles at his own pun. Lio’s mouth twists in an uncomfortable attempt at a smile. “You don’t actually have to go in them. There’s these big brushes—” Galo stomps down on a hatch in front of the cannons, popping it open and revealing a few comically oversize bottlebrushes. He picks up two and passes one over to Lio with an easy smile. “We clean them with these!”

Cleaning the cannons ends up being simpler than expected; really just a matter of scraping out the scale residue of firing the cold packs, but flakes of scale get in Lio’s hair and he’s grateful for the face shield and suit. It’s physically demanding work, too, and he understands now why Lucia told him to take his coat off. He’d be sweating to death under the non-breathable Tyvek if he was still wearing his leather jacket.

“Oi! Lio!” Aina shouts across the garage. Lio looks up, head whipping around to try to locate her. She’s standing in the open passenger compartment of her shuttle waving her arms on the second level of the garage above them. “Need a hair tie?”

“Yes, thanks!” Lio shouts back. Aina pulls one off her wrist and shoots it down to Lio; it pings Galo in the forehead and Lio can’t be sure it wasn’t intentional. He laughs and Galo looks somewhere between surprised and peeved. Lio snatches the hair tie off the deck and puts his hair up in a stubby little ponytail, but it should help keep the scale out of his hair. Galo’s expression slowly melts off his face when he looks over at Lio, leaving him looking dumbstruck. “What?” Lio asks, putting a hand on a hip.

Galo just reaches a hand out without saying anything and brushes it over Lio’s tiny ponytail, a smile blooming on his face. Lio remains frozen in confusion, but he can’t help the answering smile that creeps across his lips. Something about seeing Galo so childishly delighted makes him happy. Then Galo’s hand drifts down from Lio’s ponytail and grazes over the nape of his neck, sending a shiver of heat racing through his body that feels nothing like the Promare did. Hesitantly, Lio raises his hand to Galo’s and wraps his fingers around his wrist, holding Galo’s hand in place, and softly pushes his cheek into Galo’s palm. His skin smells of metal and cordite and underneath that, his own smoky scent as if he was always coming from a campfire, the scent that had so filled Lio’s lungs during their intense battles with Kray what feels like forever ago.

Memory wraps around Lio like a second layer, hot and oppressive in a charged mantle of emotion and chaos. Adrenaline, rage, revenge, all suddenly tempered by mortal terror as Lio had lain there dying, barely aware that he was turning to ash and his inner flame was guttering, suddenly feeling so cold and small and completely helpless. But then there was Galo, a warm presence, so close and comforting as Lio’s perception of the world was narrowing down to a pinprick and racing farther and farther away from him down a long, dark tunnel. He had barely felt Galo’s lips on his own, it was so distant it was almost like it had happened to someone else, but then Lio had felt the life-giving force of the Promare in that kiss; heat and vitality came roaring back in and the onslaught of sensation was almost overwhelming. There, through all of it, was Galo smiling down at him, eyes glassy, the sky dark and ravaged with smoke behind his head, ghostly white ashes dancing in the air between them—the ashes of Lio’s body. Galo had saved him, brought Lio back nearly from the dead, but there had been no time at all to thank him in the moment.

“Thank you,” Lio whispers, his eyes watery.

“What for?” Galo asks, too loud for Lio’s state of mind.

“Shut up,” Lio mutters, and pulls Galo down for a kiss. Not a utilitarian rescue kiss to save his life, but a kiss through which Lio can pour all his passions, his thanks, his fear and pain. Galo seems startled for half a second, but his big and warm hands quickly find their places on Lio’s cheek and lower back, pulling him in even closer.

Before Lio can even properly revel in the feeling of Galo holding him close and kissing him back with just as much passion, someone very pointedly clears their throat below them. Lio extricates himself and takes a step back from Galo, looking down to find Remi staring up at them with arms crossed. “I take it you’re done with the cannons if you’re making out?”

“Uh—no, sir,” Galo says guiltily.

Remi doesn’t visibly react to Galo’s disappointment. “Whoever finishes with the cannons first chooses where we order food from.”

Galo leaps into action before Remi’s even finished speaking, attacking the nearest cannon with his brush with such ferocity one might assume it had insulted him. Lio gives Remi an inquisitive look and Remi just winks in response, then turns away and disappears back into the Mobile Rescue. Lio snorts. This team certainly does know how to get a performance out of Galo.

* * *

Two hours later, all of the former Burning Rescue vehicles are spotlessly clean and the firefighters are seated around the table in the kitchenette, sweat-wet Tyvek suits peeled off and discarded across the floor of the garage. The counters are stacked with seven pizza boxes, the eighth and ninth splayed open on the table, the pizzas themselves ravaged by hungry firefighters and one ex-Burnish. Nobody speaks; all are too busy stuffing as much pizza down their throats as humanly possible. Once the worst of the labor-induced hunger pangs are satisfied, everyone sits back and looks around sleepily.

“Aina,” Ignis says, pointing at the fridge. Aina nods, leaning her chair back on two legs to grab a six-pack of beer out of it. Lucia retrieves the wine Lio brought and pops the cork on that open, pouring two glasses’ worth into a red Solo cup for herself. She raises her eyebrows at Lio and he makes a “bring it on” gesture with both hands. Lucia dumps a horrifying amount of wine into a second cup and carefully hands it to Lio, making sure not to spill it.

With the liquor flowing and the work done, the talkative camaraderie of the precinct comes back. Galo downs half his bottle of beer right away as if parched, smacking his lips with contentment. Then he spies Lio carefully sipping off the top of his cup and does a double-take.

“Lio, you can’t drink all that!”

Lio takes his time before giving Galo a scathing side-eye. “Who says I can’t?”

“I do! You’re so small, you’ll get alcohol poisoning and I’ll have to give you charcoal!” Galo protests, and Lio realizes it’s out of genuine concern and not any sort of patronization.

“I’m _fine,”_ Lio insists. “This is practically grape juice.”

“Let me see,” Galo says, making to grab for Lio’s cup.

“Hey!” Lio cries, yanking the cup away from Galo and barely avoiding spilling it. He quickly knocks back a third of the wine in one gulp and glares at Galo. “My wine! I still haven’t forgiven you for eating my ramen egg, you dumb cockatoo.”

Their audience sniggers, but that turns into full-blown laughter at the sight of how red Galo’s face gets. “Can I have a word?” he asks Lio, almost curiously out of character. Lio shrugs, handing his wine to Aina for safekeeping away from Lucia, and follows Galo out of the kitchenette into a side equipment-storage room.

“Yes?” Lio asks once Galo is done checking to see if anyone is eavesdropping on them.

Galo breathes a heavy sigh like he’s psyching himself up to say what comes next: “I just think you should know I only have one cock and it’s very normal.”

Lio stares at Galo in abject confusion for a solid ten seconds, trying to figure out if that was the most abrupt come-on in history, or if he’s deeply misinterpreted something. “…what?” he breathes out, forehead so furrowed he can feel the wrinkles coming on.

Galo heaves another sigh, face still fire-engine red (apt, considering), and continues, “y’know, because you keep calling me ‘cockatoo’ in front of everyone. I only have one cock. It’s fine that you want to start that rumor because that’s pretty cool—I mean, who has two cocks?—but it’s just—”

“Oh my god,” Lio groans, suddenly understanding, and burying his face in his hands. “No, stop, shut up, stop right there.” Galo closes his mouth so quickly his teeth click. “Your _hair,_ Galo, I was talking about your _hair.”_

“Oh,” Galo breathes out and Lio looks up through his embarrassment to find a look of utter mortification etched into Galo’s face.

“A cockatoo is a bird,” Lio explains uncomfortably. “It has a crest that looks like your hair.”

Galo stares at the floor in silence, his thoughts scrolling across his face, and from what Lio can read they’re all variations on “ohmyfuckinggod.” Finally, Galo mutters, “I think I’m dying.”

And with that, the tension breaks and Lio bursts into gales of outrageous laughter. “Oh my _god,”_ he gasps, “you really thought I was telling your coworkers you had two dicks for a week?”

“What else was I supposed to think?” Galo almost screeches, voice going high-pitched. “I don’t know what ‘cockatoo’ means!”

Lio laughs harder, falling to his knees and clutching his stomach. Galo starts laughing helplessly at this point; Lio’s laughter is just too contagious. “You don’t know what a bird is!” Lio cries.

“I know what birds are! Just not a cockatoo!” Galo says.

“And you thought it was about your dick, of course,” Lio almost sobs, falling to his side. “You’re so stupid it’s impressive.”

Galo hollers something that sounds almost pained through his laughter, then repeats himself and it comes out as “I’m trying to feel insulted.”

Lio, collapsed on the cool storage room floor, laughs until he can’t quite breathe, then he forces himself to get a grip and wipes the tears out of his eyes. Galo, slumped against a rack of hatchets, seems to be coming to as well. Then Lio locks eyes with him and says one fatal word: “cockatoo.” And they’re both lost again, crying out in hysterics and pain as their abs protest another round of fully losing their shit. It takes them another five minutes until they’re catching their breath and working through the last of the giggles, during which time Galo succumbs to the floor and leans back against the hatchets, legs sprawled out next to Lio.

“Hey,” Galo says, nudging Lio with a booted foot. Lio looks up to find Galo staring at him intensely, still smiling, face flushed from all the laughing. There’s something in Galo’s eyes that makes Lio sit up, his mouth suddenly dry. He licks his lips. Galo’s eyes track the action.

“You said you have one very normal cock?” Lio asks softly, voice full of innuendo.

Galo arches an eyebrow. “Want to see it?”

Lio crawls the couple of feet up to Galo on hands and knees, kneeling next to Galo’s left hip. He very deliberately leans over Galo’s lap and plants a hand between Galo’s thighs to steady himself. “Maybe.”

Galo sucks in a sharp breath and lunges for Lio. Lio meets him halfway, their teeth nearly colliding. Galo’s fingers wind their way into Lio’s hair and pull it out of its ponytail. He rakes his nails across Lio’s scalp and Lio groans with pleasure, tipping his head back into the feeling. Galo’s lips find Lio’s pulse and kiss down his throat, lingering along his jawline, nipping at his earlobe and kissing the ticklish shell of his ear. Lio dips his head down and reconnects their lips, reveling in the heat and pressure of Galo’s mouth, the slick and arousing feeling of their tongues together. Somewhere in the fervor of the kiss, Lio swings his leg over Galo’s lap to straddle him and drops his hands down to Galo’s belt buckle.

Galo’s hands join Lio’s, aiding him in undoing the belt and pants more efficiently and Galo groans when Lio plunges a hand into Galo’s pants and wraps his fingers around his cock. Lio frees his cock, running his thumb over the head of it and dissipating the little moisture there. He breaks the kiss and looks down to admire this very normal cock, making as if to lean down and take it into his mouth, but Galo’s hands on Lio’s bare stomach halt that train of thought.

Cleverly, Galo’s fingers undo the buttons of Lio’s pants and one hand slides inside. Lio cries out when Galo’s fingertips graze his hard, wet clit, and he desperately presses a kiss to Galo’s mouth again to muffle his noises. It’s a struggle to keep stroking Galo’s cock as his fingers are making such maddening circles around Lio’s clit that feel so amazing. When one of Galo’s thick fingers dips between his slick lips and pushes inside his body, thumb still rubbing his clit, Lio’s kisses go slack and unfocused, his hips gyrating in Galo’s lap, all remaining shreds of concentration devoted to continuing to pump his hand up and down Galo’s shaft.

It’s almost a surprise when Galo’s other hand covers Lio’s warmly, guiding his hand on his cock, and Lio realizes quickly what he’s doing. He gives up any pretense of still kissing Galo—they’re both too far gone to do anything other than sloppily and distractedly press their mouths together—and leans his forehead against Galo’s, sharing his breath, eyes shut and focused on the warmth and pleasure rolling through his body. He puts his free hand on top of Galo’s, guiding it to the best of his ability, slipping his fingers underneath Galo’s palm to press and rub his clit in just the perfect way while Galo fucks him steadily. 

“Fuck,” Galo murmurs, “oh fuck.” Lio hums wordlessly in agreement, grinding down on Galo’s fingers harder, pleasure welling up inside him and tightening the spring in his belly. His thighs tense against Galo’s hips. “Look at me,” Galo hisses urgently. Lio opens his eyes, almost startled at how close Galo is, and looks deep into Galo’s deep blue gaze. His hand tightens over Lio’s and his breath hastens and without any further warning, Galo comes all across his own chest and the wash of orgasmic bliss across his face tips Lio over the edge. His body clamps down hard on Galo’s fingers and all of a sudden Galo’s mouth is on his again, swallowing his high-pitched cry of pleasure, fingers still working him through his waves of orgasm.

Lio falls bonelessly against Galo’s chest, panting, eyes drifting shut. “Fuck,” he breathes. Galo says something in response, but with Lio’s ear pressed against his hot and sweat-slick chest, it sounds like the rumble of a diesel engine. They float there in the afterglow for god only knows how long, only coming to as the chill of reality begins to set in again. Lio peels himself off Galo and Galo extricates his hand from Lio’s pants, his index and middle fingers pruned. He laughs at it and Lio can’t help his blush.

“How are we going to clean this up?” Lio asks groggily, buttoning his pants up and nodding towards the mess on Galo’s chest, which, he realizes now, has also transferred onto his chest. “Ugh.” In situations like this, Lio has always valued how discreet his built-in hardware is.

“There’s, um,” Galo gestures vaguely towards the door with one hand, fighting obvious sleepiness. “Chemical spill kit.”

Lio staggers to his feet and finds a red box mounted to the wall next to the door that looks like a first aid kit, but it opens to reveal disposable towels, chemical-absorbent pillows, and drying sand. He pulls out one of the disposable towels and wipes the congealed mess off his skin as best he can, then he tosses the towel at Galo. He flashes Lio a thumbs-up and halfheartedly cleans himself up. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” Lio says, eyeing the poor results of Galo’s clean-up attempt.

“Why? They already know we sneaked away to bone,” Galo says, voice more mellow than Lio has ever heard it.

Lio grimaces at Galo. “Sure, but it’s still poor form to come back to the party with dried semen all over yourself. It’s gross, Galo.”

“Fine, fine,” Galo grumbles, scrubbing his chest until it’s passably clean and red from the attention. He hauls himself upright using the rack on the wall behind him and disposes of the towel in a trashcan at the other end of the storage room. Then he faces Lio and spreads his arms out wide, hands braced against the walls, tilting his head as if to ask “is this good enough?”

“Acceptable,” Lio mutters. Galo cracks a grin, sauntering over to Lio and sweeping him up in a lazy, deeply satisfied kiss.

“I can do a lot better than acceptable,” he whispers suggestively in the millimeters between their lips. Lio shivers.

“You’ll have to show me later,” he whispers back. “I, unlike you, have a sense of decorum and I can’t just dissa—” Lio yelps as Galo picks him up and throws him over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Oh my _god,”_ Lio hollers, kicking his feet against Galo’s chest. Galo laughs, ignoring the halfhearted struggles.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Varys chuckles as Galo reenters the kitchen and deposits Lio ungracefully back in his chair, cheeks aflame. Aina silently hands him his cup of wine back with a knowing smile. Galo snags another beer and raises it in salute, throwing himself back into his own chair and leaning back on two legs. Lio swallows half of the remaining wine—is it just him, or is there less here than there was when he left?—and slaps the cup down on the table.

“Would you believe me,” he says, commanding the attention of the table, “if I told you Galo had _no idea_ what a cockatoo was and thought that I’d been making innuendos to everyone for an entire week.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Aina says immediately while everyone else at the table nods in agreement. “Galo is about as sharp as a box of hair, and we love him.”

“Hey,” Galo says, mock-offended and also looking slightly confused, but he laughs good-naturedly with the rest of the team.

The night is still fairly young when they run out of booze, so while the former Burning Rescue group makes plans to go out and hit a bar or two before calling it quits, Lio begs off, saying he’s too tired, and Galo quickly follows suit. This earns them a round of suggestive guffaws as they leave the precinct together, Lio shrugging on his jacket as the door shuts behind them. He pounces on Galo as soon as they’re out of sight, wrapping his arms around Galo’s neck.

“So what now, _cockatoo,_ you want to show me how much better than ‘acceptable’ you can do?” he murmurs huskily into Galo’s ear, then shrieks with laughter as Galo throws him over his shoulder again and carries him off into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> :^) I love these stupid boys


End file.
